


The Dreamers are young and the air no longer pure

by only_lovers_left_in_genosha



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other, Trans, quasiplationic, queerplatonic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 13:41:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2549606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_lovers_left_in_genosha/pseuds/only_lovers_left_in_genosha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kozume kenma is the new kid in school, just moved from Japan to the UK for studies, to find a new life. Kuroo Testurou is a second generation immigrant: lonely, bitter, and being pushed by teachers to befriend this introverted child because they're both Japanese.</p><p>it's a story about being more than yourself and finding out that you're more than what you though you were as well. not a puzzle piece in a big picture or the puzzle itself, but just the image it was always meant to make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dreamers are young and the air no longer pure

**Author's Note:**

> hi u can call me guangtai
> 
> this is my first proper fic, i.e the first published one that is not prose.
> 
> I'm eurasian chinese singaporean and i was born and raised in sg and english is my first language. well, tbh singlish is. i'm learning disabled several times over though so i'm sorry in advance for my spelling and grammar!
> 
> if you're japanese and see any kind of problem in the writing please hit me up! i've only ever taken 2 years of japanese class so please correct me if i've messed up!
> 
> ( warning for racism and anti japanese slurs in this chapter!)

Everything starts off as steps: at varying paces. Life has no defined edges, only a slow-drip gradient. 

It’s people, not life, not events, with the high contrast and the sharp borders. This is not taught to us, but we will all learn it anyway.

As always, it starts with something new: an uncalculated variable that bleeds into your life like watercolour. For me, the catalyst was a droopy-eyed kid. The new “boy” in school. Cliché as you can be.

He had an avoidant gaze, as he muttered to our class, in an accent I was minorly jealous of, that he was Kozume Kenma- no, Kenma Kozume. He never once met eyes with the grinning teacher, Ms. Jones, who had him up on display, his name scrawled up on the whiteboard for those who “may not be able to grasp Chinese names” she explained. 

I saw Kenma’s shoulders slump a little at this. A little sigh (bad luck, my mother would always tell me).

I seriously felt bad for the kid, no kidding. I guessed that he was a 1st gen. I’m second myself. He made eye contact with me briefly, like questioning if I was even real, if he was allotted this small mercy, as the rest of the white faces in the class ogled him, an eastern delicacy.

He shuffled over to take a seat while the teacher attempted to check us off the register, her interest in him already fading. I moved my bag from the chair next to mine- an open invitation. Hey, I know how it sucks to feel so out of place: the black student in registration had left last year and left me the sole person of colour in the class. I was oddly grateful that he was here, not only another Asian kid, but Japanese as well. Wasn’t sure how different our interactions would be though, with him being “fresh” and all (if his accent proved true).

Then this turd lord walked and plonked his bag (which had been dangling off one shoulder the entire time) and subsequently, his ass, at the empty table behind me. I pondered if he simply needed more personal space, and if we could still talk if I turned my chair around. I pondered very briefly: as he whipped out a 3DS quick-as-you-please from a coat pocket and the ace attorney theme sprung to attention from the device.

“ Kenma, please, DS off” quipped Ms. Jones, overly annunciated words coupled with very large, exaggerated hand gestures.

Without missing a beat, he just dragged the volume bar all the way down and continued playing.

“ I did learn a bit of English before coming here…” he griped under his breath, in a thick accent. Well, I suppose to him, my accent was the thick one. I was also the only one who seemed to hear this testimony.

Ms. Jones continued to battle with the old PC, trying to dredge up the register so she could confirm all our presences in the Detainment Cube. Kenma continued to play, cracking a teensy smile when (I think) something funny happened.

Meanwhile, I could audibly hear the whispers-not-quite-whispers conversation that Megan and Alice were having at the conversation. It mainly consisted of cupping your hands over your mouth (because that would for sure make your moderately loud conversation inaudible) and very pointed glances over at Kenma and I. One of us in our little corner, oblivious, another already having their day ruined.

The room was abuzz with very loud, very British, conversations. Normally I would be on my phone, but I felt this perked obligation to defend this DS playing, rude, loser. The noise was clearly making him uncomfortable. He chewed on his lip.

And the next/sole snippet from Alice & Megan™ ‘s conversation confirmed my concerns:

“ omg he’s soooo cute and tinyy….[white noise]…like a real Japanese guy…[white noise]…I know Tetsuro…but he doesn’t really count…[ the 3 boys at the middle table start singing “Time Warp” ]…like a real one…”

Well yeah okay fuck you.

Ms. Jones made this very shrill noise, which I later realized it to be the phrase “settle down children”. Now? Of all times? No, wait, after all this time? The 1st period bell was literally going in a minute. 

I drummed my fingers rapidly on the tabletop as she called out the names of my godforsaken classmates, one after the other (“ Kenma, honey, you aren’t on the register, you’ll have to go check with your head of year after this”). The bell rang halfway through and ol’ Jones had to rein in all the kids by yelling at them all to “sit down so I can finish the register”.

“ Jordan?”

“ Here.”

“ Kuroo?” I swear to god, like maybe she had good intentions, but she was constantly, and I mean constantly, confusing my first and last name. 

“ yeah.” 

And 3 more people later, I was released. Or so I thought.

As I hoisted my rucksack over my back and quickstepped over to the doorway, well aware that I was already a good few minutes late to a computing class at the other end of the building, Ms. Jones seized me. Well, she put her hand on my shoulder. She had to strain as well: I’m a good head and a bit taller than her.

Being so small and thin, not to mention mousey and pale, she looked like she was going to evaporate, leaving her calve-length skirts and ugly sweater vests in a pile. She made up for this by constantly screaming, sometimes just to keep her class on their toes. Nice way to learn about the parabola. She had some kids with severe anxiety in certain classes as well, but did she give one shit? No.

“ Kuroo, I have a favor to ask of you.” she glanced over my shoulder, to the far right corner of the classroom. Where Kenma had been sitting. Oh no.

Correction: where Kenma was sill currently sitting in. he hadn’t even bothered to put away his DS or get ready for his 1st period class. 

He hadn’t even bothered to move his stuff for the secondary 3 English class trickling in for their 1st period (who had been dutifully cum fearfully waiting outside for about 5 minutes for their lesson).

“ Could you please take Kozume to the Office to see Mr. Kelvin please? He’s still not on the register.” She pronounced the “me” in his name like the word.

Hell No.

“ Yeah, sure.” Goddamn it, I’m already behind in Computing.

“And maybe you could show him around as well, even have lunch with him? I feel like you two could make good friends.” She said, as if I had a goddamn volleyball in my skull instead of a brain. 

God, the kid has shown literally no indication of wanting to be buddy-buddy with anyone: how fucking transparent can she be? 

“ Yeah maybe.”

She smiled like I promised to leave him my inheritance. I felt like this was a bad omen in upon itself.

She then promptly left, probably for a class of her own. I was left with the new transfer. Dr. Farlan (who gets a doctorate in English, really?) eyed Kenma as she walked in to take the English class. Specifically the DS.

“… Hey, Kenma,” I called out “ I’m taking you around. Pack your stuff. And hide that Gameboy before you get it taken away.”

He abided, trailing towards me, keeping a half step behind. 

We walked the now lonesome corridors in relative silence. Then, unexpectedly:

“ Kuroo, it’s a DS, not a Gameboy. And isn’t just calling me Kenma, when we’ve just met too familiar?”

“Apply honorifics to me if you want, but I’ll tell you now that you’re gonna get bullied real quick if you do that. And I’m not exactly keen on that happening to me.”

“…”

Oh crap. I messed up. 

“ I was teasing, Tetsuro.” He didn’t sound particularly accusatory, nor disappointed. Thank you baby Jesus and god and that third one- the poltergeist thing.

For some reason, I don’t want to mess this up with him. Okay, possibly for the exact reason why Ms. Jones wanted us to hang out. Sue me. 

Additionally, curse me for eternally having the social skills of half a grapefruit. 

Well, it’s not like Kenma was much better.

There was a conversational blank for a minute, give or take, before Kenma asked abashedly:

“ Erm, Testsuro, where are we headed?”

Were you literally phased out of this earth the whole of registration period?

Urgh I shouldn’t be harsh, it’s his first day after all.

“ You aren’t on the register, so you need to go to our head of year to ask him to put you in.”

“ ah.” 

The most prominent thing I notice about Kenma, was his dedication to silence. He seemed like a token of clay under running water: smooth, even, unremarkable. His black hair sunk down to earlobes, choppy in places. He constantly surveyed the ground, as if he was always making sure his shoelaces were tied. This caused his hair to curve across the contours of his plump cheeks.

He eternally had a neutral expression, seemingly uninterested with a reality beyond that of pixels and 8-bit. His voice always even and soft, just like his steps: while my squeaking sneakers and strong gait was audible in the empty hall, only the occasional gentle “pat” from flat toed shoes reassured me that Kenma was still following me. It was as if he was trying to not leave ripples in the water, keep his presence a dimension below ours.

It was fuckin weird. Like, not bad, but weird. Like really unusual. I noticed that he hadn’t made eye contact with anyone since I’d met him (given, it was like 10 mins ago, but like, I dunno).

I opened the door to the stairs- just a floor up to the ground floor, down the chemistry corridor, then we can turn into the general office, where the year heads’ and principal’s offices were tucked away in a separate corner. Kenma still has his head down as I hold the door open for him. He does bob his head in recognition though.

Some dudes from P.E were loitering in the stairway, probably to try and get out of a class they should be in: our year doesn’t get free periods.

They seemed kinda familiar…

Oh crap. They’re those assholes. The ones that I fought last summer because the school wouldn’t do shit about them calling me “ a yellow jap” and had a particular penance for shouting the n word every 2 mins to prove some point. Classy. I only bruised them and possibly broke a finger (not on purpose), but you would have thought I knifed them or something. Anyway, they were asking for it.

They sneered at me and my human parcel. I kinda didn’t want to expose Kenma to this brand of British culture yet. They muttered to each other and snickered. For some ungodly reason, they’re holding cigarettes. They’re unlit. What the hell. Is it just to look cool? I mean like, there’s literally a smoke alarm right above them. Christ.

“ Take a fucking picture Timothy, it’ll last longer.” I grumble as I pass by, making sure that Kenma is close enough to me + not in grabbing distance of Eminem 1 & 2.

“ Fook yew ya jap basterd! Ya dinnie have tae be that fookin pretentious ya racist!” ah, number 1, the Scottish one. I’m like 80% percent certain he fakes that accent.

“ And my name isn’t timothy!” called out number 2, paired with his middle finger, like a bony salute. Nice. I feel like the gesture should come with a ribbon tied around it, to be honest.

Ok, calm down there timothy.

I tread the stairs two by two, without giving them the grace of a second glance. Kenma rushes after me, less composed than I thought he’d be.

Crap, he actually looks pretty freaked. I couldn’t really tell, but he was flushed, his eyes were widened in alarm and I think he was trembling a bit. Fuck.

I stopped as we reached the top of the stairs. I could hear him breathe, softly, but the fact that it was just audible was concerning. I turned around slowly, as to not alarm the jumpy fawn.

“ Kenma,” I spoke slowly, raising my hands up in an I-Am-Not-Here-To-Harm gesture. “ Are you okay?”

His knuckles razed over each other as he dropped his head a few more centimeters and furtively darted his eyes from side to side. Small tremors congregated around his fingers and shoulders and I could hear his exhales in small huffs.

He didn’t respond, just kept jittering and seemingly looking for a good escape route. I stepped back a bit, giving him some personal space. 

“ Kozume,” I stalled, wondering what to do. Was this a panic attack? Should I take him to the nurses?

Another few seconds passed with zero response, just him shaking and backed into a corner, leaning against it to support his own weight.

I tired again.

“ It’s okay,” I tried to annunciate, as condescending as it may sound, I wasn’t sure how much of my words he was processing, if at all. “ They won’t come after us. They’re all talk. You’re safe here. I wouldn’t let them try anything anyway.” 

“ ほんとに？” 　

Ahhh… well it was a response at the very least. I felt guilty that my Japanese wouldn’t be up to par to hold a proper conversation with him if he stopped with the English completely. My parents were busy, and when they weren’t, they were usually trying to check with me to see if their English was of an acceptable standard, not teach me a language that wouldn’t be actively useful day to day. At least…not anymore.

“ええ。ほんと。”

 

We stood about for a few beats more, Kenma asking a couple more times if he was safe, if we were okay, me repeating the same answer (with minor variations) in poor Japanese which I’m sure he recognized as such.

After his breathing returned to normal, and his hands stopped quavering, he murmured that we were okay to continue on our (rather eventful) journey to the Head Teacher’s Office.

“すまない、てつろーさん。”

“大ジョブ、、”

“大仕事ーくん、”

“はい？”

“あなたは 日本語 とても 悪いです。”

“….” Now I don’t want to speak it at all. Hooray ( sarcasm). 

Another silence, this one all a part of my own.

“すまない、、てつろうーさん”

“心配すまない。”

**Author's Note:**

> so how was it? i'd love feedback btw! leave ur white tears at the door though if you're gonna write anything ab Timothy. also keep ableist language out of the comments please!
> 
> if you haven't guessed yet this is going to touch on quite a bit on gender, orientation, disability and abuse ( the last one will have a warning) so yh if you dislike any of this stuff or think it's some "gross tumblr sjw stuff" please leave!


End file.
